Breakfast Fit For A Day-Off Pony

Looks like The Pony had some steak left over. He was off Sunday, and made himself a sandwich. He didn't specifically say it was for breakfast, but I'm thinking it was. Not saying what TIME he had breakfast, of course. The Pony is reluctant to get out of bed when the weather is cold.

Monday morning he was texting me while waiting for his car to warm up to go to work. I had sent him a worried text about the icy weather. More on that another day...

"Yesterday I did a steak and egg sandwich."

"That looks good."

"It was! Though next time I'd slice thinner or dice it instead of strips."

A Hearty Meal For The Beast Of Burden

The Pony basically eats one meal a day. Sure, he grabs something for a brief breakfast before heading to work. But it's not like he prepares a hearty country breakfast of sausage, eggs, biscuits, hash browns, gravy, and juice. I'm sure he'd like that, but he's said before he prefers to work on a not-full stomach. 

He generally snacks through the work day. Perhaps buying a treat or nuts or mini donuts when he takes his bathroom break at Casey's. Or he might take along some Chex Mix or fruit gummies with his jugs of water.

As you might imagine, The Pony is famished when he gets off work. He can't take time to drive over to Bill-Paying Town for Steak N Shake every night. And I assume he grows tired of ordering out for Chinese or pizza. So he will cook himself a feast. 

Here's the discount steak that he bought on Friday evening:

"That looks delicious for me. Maybe a little overdone for you!"

"Yeah. They're just a bit thin."

"Still good, I bet."

"Very!"

Oh, that wasn't ALL the food. Here's a view of the dinner table:

No need to put the mashed potatoes on the fancy plates Farmer H got for The Pony, when he can eat them right out of the pan! And look! The Pony is also grazing on greens these days!

He might want to clean off the table next time, to fit more FOOD on it! Not shaming. It's hectic to work a 40-hour week and shop for groceries and prepare your own meals and wash your own dishes and do your own laundry. The Pony will get the hang of adulting soon enough...

The Pony Grows Disillusioned

The Pony has taken to shopping less at the Devil's Playground, and more at Country Mart. There is a Country Mart literally across the street from the post office. So easy for The Pony to dash in there after work, then drive the couple blocks to his house, rather than going past his house for five minutes to the Devil's Playground. Still not a hardship, but after a hard day at work, convenience is the key.

The Pony still gets his non-food supplies at the Devil's Playground, and picks up things for me that I can't get at Country Mart. He used to go a couple times a month, but lately it has been about every six weeks, when he runs out of staples like the frozen foods he likes to keep on hand.

Anyhoo... Friday evening, The Pony sent me a text. His texts usually come at one of two times: when I'm trying to sleep after just going to bed mid-morning, or when I'm trying to prepare supper for Farmer H. I don't complain. It's not like I'm bound by a schedule. I would never hurt The Pony's feelings by making him think he's inconveniencing me.

"Bought discounted steak at Country Mart."

"Excellent sticker placement."

"I think it's because of the sticker. Pressure does that. Like if I stack something on top of my hamburger package. Should be fine if it smells okay."

"I mean, I don't usually sniff meat. AFAIK it smells fine."

"I sniff it when it's on the date. After I have it home, and get ready to cook it. Not in the store!"

"But yeah, it had two dollars cut off the price and is supposedly good for two days from now."

"I haven't had trouble with their meat."

Tomorrow I'll show you The Pony's meal table...

Farmer H Is Cooks' Pet

There's a reason Farmer H is obsessed with his weekday lunches at the senior center, and it's not gourmet cooking, nor the low, low price of $3.00.

Farmer H is COOKS' PET!

He doesn't just sit at a table with his cronies and shoot the bull over a cheap meal. He has a seat of honor at the COOKS' TABLE! I don't remember when he let this information slip, but I'm pretty sure he regretted the moment it crossed his lips.

Of course there are benefits, like the times they've given him leftovers to bring home. They have offered him work fixing up the place, but Farmer H is reluctant to get involved in such a way. I'm pretty sure he is leery of letting a good thing go bad if they are not satisfied. He DID reach out to several union tradesmen last week, about getting a crew to do the work for less than union scale. Several were receptive.

But here's the biggest benefit reaped by Farmer H. He didn't like the dessert last week, which was pineapple something. He took a bite, and was immediately disappointed.

"Is this cottage cheese?" 

"Yes. Cottage cheese with pineapple."

"Oh. I can't stand cottage cheese."

THEY WENT TO GET HIM SOME COOKIES!

Can you imagine them doing that for all the other lunch-eaters who don't like cottage cheese? Not gonna happen!

Farmer H has his harem well-trained.

Can't Say I Felt An Ounce Of Sympathy

We had delicious beans and corn muffins on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Yes. I made another batch of corn muffins due to Farmer H consuming more than his allotment.

Thursday, Farmer H sent me a text at 11:13.

"Guess what lunch is ham and beans and potatoes and stewed tomato"

"Bet mine were better."

"Yes they were much better"

Anyhoo... when Farmer H got home, I chided him about the beans.

"That's what you get for being a leftover snob. You never want to eat leftovers. And now you had beans for the FOURTH DAY, heh, heh!"

"I don't mind leftovers. Two days is fine with me."

"That's barely a leftover! You eat it one day, and then one more. You always find some way to get out of the third day, like going to your storage unit, or to an auction. So I think it's funny that you had four days of beans."

"They wasn't very good. The ham in them was like sliced squares of wafered lunch meat ham."

Still. No sympathy from me... They were all meals he didn't have to cook or clean up after. Three were free, and one cost him $3.00.

The Mail Must Go On. Within Reason.

We had 8 inches of snow on Tuesday night. A heavy, wet snow that came down at an alarming rate, reducing visibility, and keeping us home from our planned casino trip to Oklahoma. Of course it could not keep The Pony from going to work.

That pure driven snow does no favors for The Pony's garage in the background. It's scheduled for a makeover in the summer. After breaking his rear windshield wiper during the last winter storm, The Pony left his front wipers up this time, so they didn't freeze.

His first order of business was to find the windshield! Good thing I gave him my scraper.

The snow was deeper than The Pony's boots. He said it hurt his knees walking, due to the heaviness of the boots he was not used to wearing yet this winter, and having to step so high.

The good news was that The Pony and his work crew had instructions to skip any areas that didn't look like they could safely walk or navigate with their vehicle. The Pony was in a Metris van, which is rear wheel drive, and not good on snow. So he could not deliver to some apartment complexes that didn't plow the parking lot or area around their mailboxes. He also couldn't stop on streets where there was no room to park off the main roadway. So he was thinking he might get off a little early.

Good thing he has a big triangle tub to soak in after a hard day of semi-work.

Bananadrama

Farmer H came back to the Mansion before I was ready for him to on Tuesday. It was scarcely 12:30! My day was already messed up from having to alter my schedule to cash in my big winning lottery ticket. HM people problems...

Anyhoo... I hadn't been to bed, and I hadn't showered. Just wrote out some bills and left for town around 10:00 a.m. There was a snowstorm forecast anyway, supposedly starting around 4:00. (You KNOW that didn't happen. Television meteorologists have a long history of letting me down.) I was sitting on the short couch watching The Best Thing I Ever Ate on the Cooking Channel. It's old reruns. This show was from 2009. The big-name chefs looked really young, and really thin.

Anyhoo... Farmer H sat down in his recliner to watch. He didn't dare snatch the remote to look for Gunsmoke. The topic of this food show was "Pizza." There was some concoction with bananas. Perhaps it was a dessert pizza. Chef Aaron Sanchez, before all his visible tattoos, was introducing it.

"The Veteran's little girl (Farmer H mentioned her by name) is right. If it has a spot on it, I ain't eatin' that banana. When they get too soft, I throw them away."

"I am NOT going to the store every day to look for green bananas! I already go every fourth day. It's like a drug addict always looking for his next fix! Seems like I'm always going to the store for bananas."

"Well, I don't like them once they start to get spots."

"The store doesn't get a shipment every day! And I've noticed that you started taking your banana from wherever you want! For years I have lined them up in the fruit bowl, with the ripest ones on the end to eat first. And now you've been going to the other side of the bowl, and picking whichever one you want! So you're eating the green ones first, while the others get riper and riper!"

"No I don't."

Yet the evidence clearly shows otherwise. It's always been a matter of 'when it's your turn, it's your turn.' Sometimes you get a bigger banana, sometimes a smaller. Sometimes it has more tiny freckled spots than the next one. That's just luck of the draw. It's not like I secretly arrange them late at night to favor myself with the second one in line. You get what you get. 

Unless you're Farmer H, and pick out the best one from wherever it sits in the bowl.

Another Day, Another Way To Annoy Mrs. HM

I cooked a big pot of beans with the frozen leftover Christmas ham. You know how it goes with beans. They either have to soak overnight, or you give them a quick boil and let them sit for a couple hours. I did the boiling on Sunday evening. Left them on the stove while we ate our supper of chimichangas. Then I rinsed those plump beans in a colander, added the ham that I'd put on the cutting block to thaw. All while Farmer H laid about in his recliner watching old westerns.

While Farmer H snoozed the sleep of the carefree, I tended those beans. Poured in some juice from a jar of sweet banana pepper rings, and some minced garlic. Ground some black pepper into the pot, which meant I had to add some peppercorns to the almost empty grinder. Let them simmer with the lid tilted. Checked on them every 20 minutes, giving them a stir to move the giant bone around. Then let them cool 45 minutes before hefting that pot into FRIG II. Which necessitated moving Farmer H's six-pack of Diet Mountain Dew to another shelf.

Monday evening, I was planning to make corn muffins to go with the beans, and slice an onion and some sweet banana pepper rings to add to our beans. When I got home from town at 5:15, Farmer H revealed that he would be LEAVING in 15 minutes to go meet his "LADY" at his SUS2 (Storage Unit Store 2) about some inventory. The SUS2 is not just a 10-minute trip to town. It's 25 minutes down to Bill-Paying Town.

So... I was supposed to wait until he got back around 7:00 to have supper ready. Of course he sent me a text at 6:40 saying she was running late. So it was 8:00 before Farmer H got home and I started the corn muffins. I always make 12. We each eat two. So there was three days of corn muffins to go with the three meals that I planned to get out of the pot of beans.

Farmer H was done eating within 10 minutes! He came back to the kitchen before I'd even started on my beans. 

"I'm having another roll. Them was good!"

Farmer H slathered butter on his third corn muffin. Which means I'll need to bake six more on our third night of beans, or go without one. Maybe more, if Farmer H decides to have more than two another night.

I figure that's a full 8-hour work day I have invested in those beans and corn muffins, including prep and clean-up. I hope Farmer H enjoys his three 10-minute eating sessions!

Denial Is Strong In This One

 Denial drips from Farmer H's tongue like honey from an over-condimented biscuit!

"Look at this! I'm picking it up, because I know you've stepped over it ten times already while ignoring it!"

"Huh. What is it?"

"This dried leaf!"

"We both walk in and out of the house, HM."

"The difference is, I walk in once a day, from the garage to porch to here, and take off my shoes. Then I wear socks or my CROCS around the house. YOU are in and out several times, through the yard, tromp around until you get ready for bed, scattering shoe-sole stuff through the house!"

Farmer H had no response to that. Since he'd already as much as denied any responsibility for that leaf.

Next thing you know, he'll accuse me of opening up assorted pill vials and tossing them on the bathroom tile. Like the clear vitamin capsule that found my right heel yesterday...

I Still Haven't Figured Out What, Exactly, Is Wrong With People

While I was getting my scratchers out of the machine on the right at Country Mart on Saturday, I sensed someone lurking behind me. I looked over my left shoulder, and saw two women who were not spring chickens. 

I wasn't taking long. I had NO WINNERS, so I had put in cash. A five and a one, to get two of the $3 scratchers. Before I could tap the screen for the second one, I sensed movement on my right. A quick peep revealed the scroungier of the two not-spring chickens, almost under my armpit!

THEN SHE COUGHED!

WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN WAS WRONG WITH THIS GAL???

I hurriedly grabbed my second ticket and took off. That was just rude. The left machine was open, with no sign taped to it. They could have easily used that one. Or just waited a proper distance behind me.

Society is collapsing. And now Farmer H can't build my proposed handbasket factory until he has his back surgery!

I'm Pretty Sure We've Broached This Topic Before

Farmer H is trying to kill me! I'm pretty sure...

Thursday night, I told him there was still a piece of cheesecake in the freezer, left from Christmas dinner. I'd like to think he left it because he wanted me to have my share, but more likely he forgot. I'm not a big fan of cheesecake, which I'm reminded of every time I eat it. So I figured Farmer H might as well enjoy it.

Friday afternoon, as I was scraping out the crumbs to wash the Chex Mix pans, I tried to rearrange the items in the wastebasket to fit more in. Farmer H had jammed the clear plastic lid from the cheesecake tray in between some paper plates. In moving it, 

I SLICED MY THUMB!

Right on the top of my thumbertip! You know how you feel the slice, and then wait for the blood to appear? It was like that. A papercut made by plastic. I got a paper towel to blot it. Then I had to apply a bandaid over the top, one sticky part on the thumbernail, one sticky part on the fleshy thumb pad. Holding it out of the water while washing those pans was not an easy task.

Nor is typing with a bandaid on my thumbertip...

Once Again, We Pose The Question, "WHAT, Exactly, Is WRONG With People?"

On my way to town Thursday, around 2:00, I saw a loose dog lurking around the stop sign where our blacktop road meets the blacktop lettered highway by the long high bridge. It was a blue heeler. I've not seen one in this area before. The closest house has a german shepherd. I'm afraid somebody pulled over and dumped that heeler. I told Farmer H when I got home.

"I saw it there this morning on my way to town. I was afraid it would get run over by the time I came home, but it was still there."

"I'd take it. But it was gone when I came back."

"I don't think Jack would get along with another dog."

"If it was a female he would. I didn't notice what this one was. Heelers can be a handful, though. They're so smart. And stubborn!"

We don't know where that dog went. I'll look for it tomorrow. Not that I could catch it or anything. I don't want to get bit, either! I didn't notice if it had on a collar. It was sturdy, like it had been fed regularly. But a dog out roaming from its home isn't going to hang around a stop sign at the end of a road for six hours. I suppose the dumpers think somebody will take it in. 

It Could Have Been Much Worse...

Farmer H took The Pony out for lunch on Tuesday. He had a gift card for a local Mexican restaurant that he'd been trying to use. Turns out he's still trying to use it. They went to Captain D's instead. That was The Pony's choice. Farmer H was okay with it. He had shrimp and broccoli and okra. The Pony had fish and fries and breadsticks.

The Pony's three-day weekend ended soon enough. Wednesday dawned dark and dreary, with downpouring rain and temps around 40. At noon, The Pony sent me a text:

"Today's going Not-Great! Something about my leftovers or the cheese I added to them seems to have given me an explosive problem. In the poop stomach."

"Oh no!"

"It's not fun to have to go to a gas station bathroom like, once an hour, while working."

"At least you have the gas stations!"

Hope it wasn't the origami burrito. And really glad The Pony didn't have Mexican food with Farmer H. 

If I Didn't Know Better, I Might Swear There Was A Plot To Deprive Me Of Scratcher Winners

I was on the way to The Pony's house Tuesday, to give him the new six-month insurance cards for his Nissan Rogue. He's on our policy, because technically we hold the title, and we get a discount for having all our insurance with one company. The Pony pays his part, though. So it's just an on-paper detail to get the best price for all of us. 

Anyhoo... I stopped by Country Mart for my scratchers, because I knew that it would likely be getting dark when I returned, having spent time talking to The Pony.

My plans were foiled when I saw a handwritten sign on notebook paper saying the left lottery machine was OUT OF ORDER. Oh, well. I could still get my $3 scratchers out of the right machine. That darn thing was being contrary. It would scan my $3 winner, then not put the amount on the machine. I had to do it three times to make it work. Just my luck, there was a man standing behind me waiting. Sucks to be him! 

I had also planned to get The Pony a new $10 ticket that came out last week. So I disregarded that impatient waiter and put in a ten.

Sweet Gummi Mary! 

A worker walked by, and told Impatient Waiter, "You can TRY the other machine. I restarted it, and it looks like it's ready." She walked over and took the sign off the front, and stuck it to the side.

Impatient Waiter was braver than I! He stepped right up and put his money in the left machine. Since it looked like it was working, I waited to get my two $3s out of that machine, too. 

WHAT IF those workers are waiting for the tickets to get to a certain number, and put that sign on so nobody plays it until they have a chance? Like if they buy one ticket a day, and don't want anyone else to get the ticket they think might be a winner? Stranger things have happened in the lottery world.

Anyhoo... none of my $3 tickets won. But the $10 ticket I gave The Pony? Won $50.

Not that I'm bitter...

Pony Burrito Origami

Sometimes The Pony sends me a picture of what he's having for supper. No description. Just a picture. I respect his relaxation time when he is off work, so try not to prolong the interaction. Or be satisfied with the LACK of interaction.

Sunday night, here's what The Pony had for supper:

I'm not sure if it was some leftover fried rice that he had from Chinese carry out, or if it was a prepared meal that he cooked. He's been known to add beans and onions to his rice for making a tasty burrito. Not my style, but The Pony is a fan.

The Pony also experiments with wraps and tortillas. So the color of this meal was not a surprise. However... Who wraps a burrito like that? It's like it has a severed neck! Sis was also intrigued. But while she was looking at the picture on my phone, I had an epiphany. MAYBE that was the end of a first burrito, propped up on a second. That could explain the curious structure.

It's all in how you look at it, I suppose. Like that optical illusion that can be a young lady in a fancy hat, or a hook-nosed old crone.

Farmer H, The Insinuating Incinerator

I bought some bratwursts at Save A Lot on Friday. They make them in-house. They're big and fat and way more tasty than the Johnsonville brand that usually comes frozen and is then thawed out and put in the refrigerator case. I wanted the plain sausages, but I only saw the cheddar and the jalapeno variety. We don't like them. The other packs looked like plain, but said they were APPLE. That sounded appealing. So I got two packs, yielding 10 sausages. 

With it being the middle of winter, even though temps hit 60 degrees a couple days ago... I planned to cook the sausages in the oven. Farmer H got home later than usual. He said he might go cook them on GassyG Jr. Since it was 49 and getting dark (we DO have lights on the porch), and the wind was blowing about 15 mph, I told him no, that I would use the oven. He agreed way too easily!

The problem with cooking sausages in the oven is that I'm never quite sure when they're done. I let them cook until they get a little brown on the outside, like on the grill. But when I take them out of the oven and let them sit a few minutes, they get all crinkly and shrink. Like all the moisture has leaked out of them. Yet when I take them out just as they start to get brown, we find them not done in the middle.

Better to err on the underdone side, I think. You can always microwave, but you can't reinject them with juices. These sausages were in two glass 11 x 13 baking dishes. Plenty of room between them. They cooked for 1 hour!!! At 350 degrees. I kept checking them every 10 minutes after the first half hour. Surely that was long enough to cook them. Yet when Farmer H took the first bite, he said they were still not done! So he microwaved his, and they were fine. I put them back in for another 20 minutes. Mine were done at that point.

Anyhoo... I asked Farmer H,

"Do you think that wasn't hot enough? What temperature do you think I should cook them?"

"Well, I'd say you should have cooked them hotter. Maybe 650. I imagine that's how hot the grill gets."

"WHAT? My oven does NOT go to 650 degrees! It might go to 500 on the self-cleaning cycle, but I don't think that's for cooking!"

Heh, heh. I can't believe Farmer H thinks I should cook something at 650 degrees! Though I do admit that when he grills the sausages, they turn out simply divine.

Feelin' Rhyme-y, It's So Timely, I'm A Satisfied Lime-y

 ... I got my discount, now it's done.

A few days ago I told the tale of being cheated out of $.50 when I bought limes that were marked 3-for-a-dollar. The dang cashier charged me $1.50!

Saturday, I was back at Country Mart. Mainly for bananas, but of course I found a lot more to put in my cart/walker. I had french onion dip that was on sale, store-brand chips, baby dills and pickle spears, a $4.99 chicken dinner from the deli, pepper jack cheese slices, and another attempt at the limes. I was prepared with my schpiel when I got to the register.

"I'm not complaining... but really I AM. These limes are marked 3-for-a-dollar. Last time I was here, they got rang up for $1.50. And my receipt said LARGE limes, 3 at $.50. There's only one size lime. It wasn't YOU who rang me up. And it might be a problem programmed into your system. Just saying, your sign lists them as 3-for-a-dollar, and if they're not, I don't want them."

"Oh. I'll check on that for you."

She looked at the sticker on the limes, and punched in the code. Then she did a bunch of other stuff, including looking at a little chart that I suppose is for the young cashiers, showing PICTURES of each type of produce, and telling their name! Anyhoo... by the time she finished, she said,

"There's a way around that! I fixed it for you."

I thanked her and paid. Didn't peruse the receipt right there. Told her,

"All this for fifty cents!"

When I got back to T-Hoe, I saw that she had rung up a charge of $1.00, which was listed as "Grocery Dept." Looks like they DID have it programmed wrong. I'm not so sure it's an accident...

Judge The Cover, Misread The Book

I was surprised to have a young girl hold the door open for me at the Gas Station Chicken Store on Friday. She looked about 11 years old, a tiny blond gal doing a good deed. As I stepped inside, I moved back to let her pay first. After all, she would have been ahead of me if she hadn't held the door.

Blondie stepped up to the counter and said, 

"I have ten dollars for Pump 4."

"Okay. Do you want the red gas tickets?"

"Yes, please and thank you."

Blondie moved to the left to look at some merchandise on the counter while the cashier was tearing off the gas raffle tickets. Then she stepped back to take them and put them in the box. After she went out the door, the cashier said,

"She stole a Chapstick last time she was in here. So I had my eye on her."

"Oh! Here I was thinking what a polite young girl she is! She held the door open for me."

"Well..."

"So I guess she's not TOTALLY irredeemable."

"Maybe not."

Not sure why I am thinking of that movie The Bad Seed.

My Helicopter Heart Is Cracking

Thursday was errand day, so I was off to Sis-Town to mail some bills and get T-Hoe's gas. As I was driving up the hill to Casey's for the latter, I passed an LLV (Long Life Vehicle) coming down, headed for the main post office. I always look inside, in case my little Pony is the driver. This one was wearing a fur-lined parka hood. While driving! 

I was pretty sure it wasn't The Pony. His winter coat has a hood, but it isn't fur-lined. From what he tells us of the heating system in the LLVs, I understand why that employee was wearing the hood!

I almost froze to death while pumping T-Hoe's gas. The wind really whips around at that location, it being within a quarter mile of the old lead-mining area that is now a state park. No foliage grows on that section of tailings, so the wind has free rein.

Later that evening, I got a text from The Pony:

"I saw you at Casey's today! Tried to wave but you were texting or looking at a penny picture on your phone!"

"I saw someone in an LLV wearing a fur-lined hood while driving, between Casey's and the railroad tracks. It wasn't you. I was probably writing the place on the back of my lottery tickets. I didn't get a coin today. Saw one, but it was too far under the snack racks to get."

"I was in a Metris, driving by. Looked like you had your phone in your hand, but it could've been a ticket."

My cold, cold heart is cracking. I love my little Pony! Every time I see an LLV, I'm so proud. All these times it hasn't been him, but the one time I could have waved, it was!

An Unarmed Battle Of Wits

Sweet Gummi Mary! If we had engaged in a battle of wits on Wednesday evening, Farmer H and I would both have been sadly lacking in weaponry!

I asked if he wanted a whiskey and Diet Shasta with lime, and he said yes. So I got it ready before I walked past him to change out of my town clothes. Saved me a trip back to deliver it like a waitress.

After I switched to my raggedy home clothes, and chatted a moment while leaning on the back of the short couch... I returned to the kitchen to make myself some tuna salad for supper. Farmer H was having his Poor Man's Chicken and Dumplings, since he'd skipped a night by going to the auction and eating two hot dogs.

Anyhoo... as I walked into the kitchen, I saw the lime on the kitchen counter!

"Oh, no! I forgot to add the lime to your drink! Do you want me to put it in now?"

"Nah. It's okay."

"Did you even notice that the lime was missing?"

"Not really."

"I can't believe you didn't notice! I even put in the sugar! Almost a whole tablespoon! I thought it seemed like I got that drink ready faster than usual! Did you notice the sugar?"

"No."

Seriously. How can you NOT notice that a tart lime is missing, and also NOT notice how sweet the drink it?  Maybe like you don't notice that you've left the lime laying on the counter while you're adding sugar...

Even Steven Saw Fit To Balance Out The Deli Guy

Welp! I guess it's my own fault. Just a few days ago, I was boasting about having connections at Country Mart, with the Deli Guy giving me special treatment. Tuesday, I received less-than-special treatment, at the hands of a cashier. Not a cashier I regularly frequent. Nor will continue to...

Two cashiers were working. I'd been to the older one last time, and she was congenial enough. However, this time she had an old lady with a full cart, only half unloaded onto the conveyor. So I went to the other cashier, who was at the short checkout. She was half-turned around, acting like she was checking the cigarette inventory that they keep at that register. In all actuality, I belive she was just wanting me to NOT go to her line.

I only had a few items. All fit in the child seat. I had a deli salad, eight bananas, two bags of onions, a pack of cole slaw mix, and three small limes.

Here's the thing. When I was there a few days ago, the limes were 4/$1.00. Of course I got some! At one point, they were 4/$5.00. Anyhoo, a couple days ago, the sign above said "Small Limes 4/$1.00." There was only one size limes. I was surprised to see on Tuesday that they were now: "Small Limes 3/$1.00." Still, it was a bargain compared to their usual prices. I don't know why the change mid-week. The sales always start on Wednesday.

Anyhoo... I put my three small limes in a bag, and didn't think to check the price the cashier was ringing up until I was back in T-Hoe. 

SHE CHARGED ME $1.50 FOR THREE LIMES!

Not only that, they were listed as LARGE LIMES, 3 @ $.50.

It was not worth the wear and tear on my knees to go back in to the service desk and ask for a refund of $.50. Even though I deserved it.

Those limes were the exact same size as the ones I got earlier. I put them all on the counter together. Farmer H likes one in his whiskey and Diet Shasta. I sometimes add half of a lime to my Diet Shasta.

The Deli Guy would be appalled if I told him of this slight, I'm sure...

Call The Chiropodist!

Sweet Gummi Mary! Farmer H is going to cause a serious injury to the delicate tootsies of Mrs. HM! And he's probably not even trying to kill me. It's just carelessness.

Sunday afternoon, I once again trod upon a PILL on the bathroom tile. It's worse than walking barefoot on a gravel driveway in there. Padding along post-shower, getting ready for my town trip, and YOUCH! Right under my heel. I'm the ambulatory version of The Princess, and the pill is the pea. No mattresses to try and assuage my pain, either.

For the second time in a week, this was a little blue pill (not the FAMOUS little blue pill) that looks like my orange lisinopril blood pressure tablets. I even asked Farmer H if it was for his blood pressure, perhaps a different dosage in a different color. But he said it was for something else I can't remember.

Anyhoo, I scraped it off my left heel, using the rug in front of the sink. I put the pill in the little plastic thingy Farmer H puts his pills in as he sorts them for daily consumption. He'd already taken his morning pills. I DID tell him I found it, lest he think he didn't swallow it. Sometimes, he drops one, can't find it, and gets another.

I wonder if it tasted like FEET...

Farmer H, The Horner-Inner

Can Mrs. HM have nothing to call her own??? Why must Farmer H horn in on everything she loves? Either forbidding her to enjoy her special activities, or belittling them, or taking them over for his own purposes! 

Oh, the things I have given up! I used to take one evening a week to take my mom out for dinner. But that was too taxing for him to "watch" his own children. So the opportunity eventually petered out. 

I liked reading, but Farmer H decreed that I spent too much time with my nose in a book. I walked around the yard and barn field, but that meant I was a fanatic about exercise. 

I watched Rams football every Sunday, but that was time I should have been cooking or cleaning or entertaining the boys, while Farmer H was out riding around on his first Gator-thing that he bought himself one Christmas.

I played Trivia on a team with work colleagues about once every couple of months, but that lasted too late on a Saturday night, and Farmer H had to get the boys bathed and in bed.

Let the record show that all my activities were not taking place concurrently. Farmer H would show his displeasure with one, and a couple months later I would try another. 

NOW Farmer H has taken over my scratching!!! 

At Christmas, Farmer H got a couple of winning tickets. They've been on his dresser for weeks. Saturday, he tossed them at me and said, "Might as well cash these in and get me more tickets before I forget about them."

Farmer H knows darn well that he's a loser! He is perfectly capable of cashing in and buying his own scratchers. He's bought them before. LOSERS!

Anyhoo... I took the $10 winner to town with me, and got him two $5 tickets. They both lost. No. That didn't make me happy. I like to see people win. 

Sunday, I took the $20 winner. Farmer H said he wanted four $5 tickets. I picked them out just for him. It's not like I just bought a bunch and then sorted through and decreed some would go to him. No. I consciously decided which tickets to get him, and from where.

THREE of his four tickets were winners! A $15 winner, another $15 winner, and a $10 winner! So for his $20 winner that I cashed in, Farmer H won $40! Now he wants me to cash THOSE in and get him more tickets. He is riding my coattails to success!

I'd be madder, but I also had a good scratcher day, winning $73. Which included a $30 and $10 winner on my $3 tickets...

Mrs. HM Has Connections

While I was in Country Mart on Friday, I decided to get a few chicken tenders. We were having Chinese food for supper, but I can stretch mine (with some of Farmer H's leftover rice) into three meals. So the chicken could be added to that. Farmer H doesn't like the leftovers like The Pony and I do. So he will be getting chicken and dumplings, the shortcut version.

Anyhoo... I didn't see any chicken tenders in the cold case. They package them and sell a few at a time. The Deli Guy was standing behind the counter, and I greeted him. Then asked if he had any chicken tenders.

"We sure do. I can make you a dinner with three of them and two sides."

"No. I don't want a dinner, just a few tenders. Maybe four."

"This is your lucky day. For you, they're buy three, get one free!"

"You always look out for me! Thank you so much!"

He put three tenders into a bag and weighed it. Put the price sticker on. Then added another tender to the bag. While he was doing that, a man came in, and Deli Guy greeted him by name, asking how work was that day. 

He's a gem, that Deli Guy.

Was That So Wrong?

Friday afternoon found me at the stoplight beside the Gas Station Chicken Store. I had already been inside for scratchers. I was waiting to proceed to Country Mart for bananas, bread, sour cream, Diet Mountain Dew, and canned mushrooms. And $3 scratchers from the machines, of course!

I was behind one vehicle, a gray SUV of an odd shape, like a Land Rover. It's a long wait for the direction I was going. The main east/west road gets about 2 minutes of green light. Then the north/south direction gets an arrow for the left-turners, and a short green light for the straight-goers. This is a huge intersection. Sometimes you can only get four cars across before the light turns red. It's understandable, because the east/west road has much more traffic, and must clear the line from the other two lights on each side of the highway overpass.

Anyhoo... I was observing the traffic lights for the other directions. Saw the main ones turn red. Saw the green arrows. Then our light turned green.

THE GRAY SUV JUST SAT THERE!

The guy was gawking around. Not even distracted by his phone. Just looking over towards Dairy Queen and Hardees. 

I honked T-Hoe's horn. You know. Just a tap. An attention-getter. Not laying on it in a panic like when someone needing their license revoked crosses into my lane with no indication of correcting.

The guy noticed, and pulled through the intersection with me on his tail. The light was already yellow when I passed under it.

I bore him no ill will. I just wanted him to MOVE so we didn't miss the light, and have to wait another two minutes for it to change.

Of course that gray SUV turned into Country Mart right ahead of me. He parked to the side, and I parked in the front. I waited to see what he looked like, so I could avoid him in the store, heh, heh! Besides, I was writing initials on the back of my Gas Station Chicken Store scratchers. That's so I know where my wins come from, and don't buy the same ticket next time.

He was 30-something, in a white baseball-style cap. Duly noted. When I eventually entered, he was standing in front of the cart corral (not wrestling to pull one loose!), talking to another man before shopping. I don't think he knew I was the honker.

Was that wrong of me to toot at him for not moving when the light turned green? I don't mean to seem impatient, but when it's your turn, you need to take advantage of it!

Mrs. HM Can Only Catch One Kind Of Break

The Universe is conspiring again! Conspiring against Mrs. HM. 

I had some irritating business about town on Thursday. That story might be told here or there at a later date. Since I was tied up over in Sis-Town, I decided to pop in the Save A Lot there to get Farmer H's precious mashed potatoes to go with his third night of meatloaf. I had a few things I needed from Save A Lot instead of Country Mart.

I parked around on the side of the building, about seven cars and two open handicap spaces from the end. It was the next-to-last parking space there, but I was fairly certain nobody would want to park way down there and block my door. A car was already parked in the space to my left. So even if they drove off, it was NOT a desirable parking spot.

As I pulled T-Hoe into the space and up to the concrete tire bumper thingy, I heard a POP. Great. What could that possibly be? I had seen nothing in the space. Then again, the sun was setting over the roof, and I was squinting through my sunglasses before pulling forward into the shadows. When I got out, I saw some crushed glass. Welp! Too late now. I went inside anyway.

Such a wasted trip! The main thing I went after did not appear to be carried by this store! My very special Shasta Diet Cola! Oh, they had regular Shasta Cola. And Shasta Diet Root Beer, and Shasta Diet Orange. But no Shasta Diet Cola! Not even a space designated for it! That was disappointing, Universe!

I managed to find the instant mashed potatoes Farmer H favors. And the strong paper plates, for $2 a pack cheaper than Country Mart, but not the flimsier version I use for slicing things on.

Back at T-Hoe, I kicked the smaller glass pieces from behind the front driver's side tire. Then I bent over to pick up the largest shard. There was nowhere to put it except beside the concrete tire bumper thingy. I backed straight out, careful not to turn the wheels and possibly grind anything into the tire. The pressure stayed the same all the way home.

When I told Farmer H that I ran over something glass, he said,

"WHISKEY BOTTLE! People are throwing them down all over the place!"

Which sounds oddly specific. Not sure where Farmer H has been hanging out. It did not look like a whiskey bottle to me, just clear glass with a curved shard as if from a drinking glass. Perhaps a glass used for drinking whiskey...

Farmer H, Not Tough As Nails

Farmer H is being difficult again! I know, pick your jaw up off the floor and let's proceed with the details...

Wednesday when I got home from town, I asked him about what he wanted for supper.

"I didn't have time to run in the store. I was at the bank and credit union, putting in the money The Pony paid for his house and his car insurance. We don't mashed potatoes like I said I'd get. But I can make you a baked potato to go with the meat loaf."

"No. I'm fine with just having a meat loaf sandwich."

"Okay, but I can make you some kind of noodle with it, if you want. Or the biscuits I said we were going to have."

"Just a sandwich is good. I'll make it myself. Didn't we have any mashed potatoes left from last night?"

"No. I told you they don't warm up well, to take what you wanted. And you took half. So then I had the rest."

"Oh. None left? I'll just have the meat loaf."

"Okay. I'm in kind of a hurry. Tough As Nails starts tonight. At 8:00."

"Huh. I don't watch that."

"You watched it with me all last year!"

"I watch something else then. I'll go to the basement."

"I've got to get going, or I won't have time to watch it."

"Okay. Do what you want."

"I wouldn't exactly say it's what I WANT. I'll be putting away clean dishes, and washing last night's dishes, before I pay the bills you just brought in the mail, and record your receipts you put on the table."

"Why do you always have to complain?"

"I'm just saying what I have to do before I can sit down with my scratchers, and make my own supper. You're the one who acts like you're giving me permission to 'do what I want.'"

Anyhoo... how could I forget that I'm not supposed to have an opinion, or comment on any of the work I have to do, because it 'makes Farmer H feel bad' while he's sitting there in his recliner!

When I went to the living room at 8:00 to watch Tough As Nails, carrying my plate of supper because I wasn't finished yet, Farmer H got up and went to the bedroom!

"Don't tell me you're going to bed at 8:00! I thought you watched 'something else.'"

"I don't want to go down to the basement. So I'm going to bed."

Do you know what? That didn't make me feel bad one bit! 

What We Have Here Is A Failure To Confirmicate

You may recall that the landline at the Mansion is worse than two tin cans connected by twine. We need a repair from AT&T to get that phone line working without static so bad that a message is practically indecipherable. 

If you already know what the caller is calling about, you can kind of listen intently, and guess right about 50 percent of the time. Like when CeilingReds calls for Farmer H. You know they're either saying a prescription is ready, or it's delayed. So I send Farmer H a text about it, and he calls or goes by CeilingReds to ask them.

There was some kind of message a couple days ago for Farmer H about an appointment. I knew he had one at 9:40 on Tuesday. So I figured that was it. He left in plenty of time for his appointment, and was planning on meeting up with The Pony later to have lunch at a Chinese buffet.

Around 1:30, there was another message. I couldn't understand the phone number our answering machine announces. When I tried to listen to the message around 2:30, it sounded like Farmer H had missed an appointment. According to the "missed call" info on the phone, this was from over in Bill-Paying Town, and not in School-Turn Town where Farmer H had gone to his 9:40 appointment.

I tried to listen to the message from several days ago. It was quite garbled due to the connection. But it sounded like Farmer H had an appointment at 10:30. Also on Tuesday. The call was from a recording, asking Farmer H to press 1 to confirm his appointment, or press 2 to say he couldn't make it. That went on three or four times, then the recording said that since they couldn't understand his response, that Farmer H should call their office to confirm.

Well. Needless to say, though I'll say it anyway, FARMER H DID NOT CONFIRM THAT APPOINTMENT.

The message from 1:30 was also a recording, saying that Farmer H should call the office to reschedule his appointment, and that he might be charged up to $25 for missing the previous appointment. I sent Farmer H a text to call them.

When I finally talked to Farmer H, who had called that office with the phone number from whence the call came, he said that nobody answered the phone. They were not in the office. He said it's a cardiologist he saw a year ago, and this was an annual follow-up appointment.

I asked why they keep calling the house phone and not his cell phone. Farmer H said he doesn't know. His pharmacy also does that. No matter how many times he's told them to call his cell phone.

Here's the thing. If the recording asks you to confirm your appointment, and you DON'T CONFIRM THE APPOINTMENT, why do they still think you will be showing up for the appointment??? Do they not understand the meaning of CONFIRM?

It's not like $25 will put us in the poorhouse. It's just the idea that Farmer H gave no indication he would be showing up for an appointment that was scheduled a year ago. So why should he be charged for the appointment? I think the doctor's office personnel should have assumed by the lack of a response that Farmer H was not coming, and given that time slot to someone else. Then if Farmer H showed up anyway, it would be his own fault if he got bumped, and had to reschedule.

Otherwise, what is the point of that CONFIRMATION phone call?

The Pony Has Trouble Wiping

During the sub-zero spate of weather just before Christmas, we had a bit of snowfall. The Pony had my windshield scraper with the long handle. He doesn't always start up his car to get warm and defrosted before driving the few blocks to work. It would take longer to warm up than the drive itself. 

When he drove himself out here the Tuesday after Christmas, for our casino trip to meet Genius, Farmer H noticed a problem with The Pony's car.

"What happened to your back windshield wiper?"

"I don't know. It acts like it's going to work when I turn it on, but it makes one swipe, and then settles down on the hatch."

"Yeah. It's pointed straight down!"

"I can put it back up by hand, and then I get one more swipe next time I turn it on, before it does that again. I guess maybe it got frozen when the weather was so cold, but the motor tried to work anyway."

"I'll have to find you a new one. Not sure if they have one that size. I'll try the parts store, but I might have to get one at a junkyard. A salvage yard."

Here it is, one week later, and Farmer H went by The Pony's house while he was off, and removed the back windshield wiper from his Nissan Rogue. He found a new one. Not sure where, but it cost $61. The Pony says he will reimburse Farmer H.

The Pony Rang In The New Year Not Quite Alone

The Pony did not have any plans to celebrate the New Year. He's not a social butterfly like Genius. He got off work, and made a trip to the store for provisions. Then spent what he planned to be a quiet evening at home. I was texting with him around 7:00 p.m., and wished him a Happy New Year.

"Thanks! No guarantee I'll stay awake that long now."

He sent me another text at 7:01 a.m.

"I was awake for it! But only because my little nap ended at like 11:30 and people started making so much noise."

"I heard fireworks here. Dad said he woke up at 12:06. So he almost saw in the New Year. He went to bed at 8:30!"

"A handful of possibly legal fireworks here, then a bunch of clapping and I'm pretty sure some people had those spinny noisemakers. The bane of every teacher and parents existence."

"I'm surprised your neighborhood was so lively."

"I'm not."

You'd think a converted school full of elderlies would be more quiet. But I guess The Pony was referring to the duplex on his side street...

The Fears Of The Mothers

When a former teaching colleague got married, she shared with us in the teachers' lounge that she had to make sure she had a midnight snack ready for her new husband. Some kind of cake or pie. AND she had to wake him if he didn't get up to eat it. 

Actually, it was a 2:00 a.m. snack For his whole life, his mother had woken him to eat at 2:00 a.m. She was afraid he would starve to death if she didn't! Sure, it seemed outlandish to the rest of us. But that fear was very real to his mother.

I also have a fear. 

When I was getting ready to leave Country Mart on Saturday afternoon, I started T-Hoe and checked my mirrors. Turned and looked out the back window. Looked out both side windows. Then did it all over again.

YIKES! Near the front door, already on the sidewalk, about five cars away, was a young boy. Sheesh! What if he'd been behind me? As I looked out both side windows again, I saw a grandma-woman leading a young girl by the arm, joining the 4-year-old size boy.

No, they had not been in my direct path for backing out. But it made me extra cautious. That's always been my fear: backing over a young child!

When my boys were the age to be dropped off at Elementia, I would pull up to the end of the sidewalk and let them out. Sometimes they had to hurry, because it was the drop-off lane.

"Mom. You can park up there by the ramp, and we'll have time to get our stuff."

"No. Have it ready when I stop. I am NOT going to try and back up where kids are being dropped off!"

That's when T-Hoe was young, and still had his back-up beeper to warn me of anything in my path. Kids dart. You may not know until it's too late. I will remain ever-vigilant when backing. Even out of my own garage. You never know when Farmer H might wander over to "help" me...